


The Potential for Good

by ChangeTheCircumstances



Series: Shedding the Capes for the Wands [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, mentions of child abuse, problematic fave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeTheCircumstances/pseuds/ChangeTheCircumstances
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heimdall has been privy to the many types of children and there were plenty of troubled children. It comes with being the caretaker of Hogwarts. Nevertheless, he's vowed to stay out of the children's way, to not get involved with any matter to deeply.</p><p>At least until he starts to understand Brock Rumlow.</p><p>Perhaps the only way to change someone is to get involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Potential for Good

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally meant to be amusing but quickly turned out painful. Hope you enjoy this surprise angst like we did when writing this.

As far as squibs went, Heimdall was an oddity.

And that was mainly because he wasn’t a squib.

Or was he?

Spells? Nothing. Transfiguration? Nope. He had no magical abilities as far as anyone could see despite his two magical parents. But then he started to see things. Tea leaves, how the stars were aligned, crystal balls. So, yes, Heimdall, for all intents and purposes, was a squib, but he did have some alarmingly accurate divination tendencies.

And truthfully, it didn’t stop with crystal balls.

Without even purposely looking, he simply started to see the futures of the people around him. The seeing became more and more frequent, had to be less and less specific. Images also became less far in the future and ultimately became where Heimdall could only see a few seconds into the future.

But that was alright because he began to see everything.

Some people claimed that Heimdall wasn’t seeing into the future anymore (though he was, just a very very soon future) and nicknamed him the All-Seer. He could tell everything that was happening in a given radius and most would assume that he would have been driven crazy with such thoughts.

It didn’t.

Or at least it didn’t show. For all anyone knew, Heimdall could be screaming inside his head but he did not use his voice often. He was quiet, used his words sparingly, and took in all the information he saw with stride. He rarely told people what they were about to do, primarily because there wasn’t enough time before the action had already occurred.

Nevertheless, this gift gave him the sight to everyone’s secrets, their decisions for good or worse. It made him a very powerful man so what did he do you ask?

He was the caretaker at Hogwarts.

Any parent would likely have been disappointed in such a career choice, particularly due to what could be gained from the Wizard or Muggle world, but then, Heimdall’s parents had stopped talking to him long ago. Heimdall didn’t really care for any fame or fortune. He had simply looked for a place where his gift would be of most use.

A school had seemed like an excellent place, particularly Hogwarts.

Though Voldemort was long gone, there were other threats that would find Hogwarts a prime place of attack. Red Skull was an excellent example of that, even if he was in Azkaban. That certainly didn’t mean his followers were as well.

But other than protecting the school from possible attacks, Heimdall was also known as the Wise, the Advise Giver. Some wondered how old he really was. His birth certificate proved that he hadn’t been around forever yet sometimes it seemed like that was the only possible explanation. Somehow, Heimdall was able to see what he saw and give certain students what they needed to hear. He rarely gave away what he actually saw. Instead, he pointed the students in the right direction when they clearly needed something or gave them the kind word they needed or the scold that would keep them from continuing bad mistakes.

That didn’t mean Heimdall was well liked by all though.

Plenty didn’t trust Heimdall, no matter how he used his gifts. But even so there were those that were less untrustworthy and were more so just bigoted.

Overall, a lot had changed since the confrontation between Harry Potter and Voldemort. No matter a pure-blood, half-blood, or muggle-born, overall they were treated equally. Squibs had not been an issue at the time however and people were not only more likely to have prejudice against squibs but were more likely to be vocal about it as well.

Being at a school helped some, younger minds tending to be more liberal than their parents, but for those that thought squibs a joke, they were even crueler than the past generations.

A perfect example of this was Seventh Year Gryffindor Brock Rumlow.

Brock was possibly the finest example of a pure Gryffindor while also being the biggest asshole. He also was a fine example of a hypocrite. He played everything off as a dumb jock but was extremely intelligent, even purposely getting lower grades to not draw attention from certain crowds.

He lied often, about himself, home life, his train of thought. It was through his lying that his Gryffindor characteristics came out, bravery, nerve, courage, daring, even if it was a warped view of them. The only one that didn’t seem to fit him was chivalry, which was almost ironic as in the quieter moments Brock demonstrated that trait quite often.

When alone, he was surprisingly kind, softer spoken, considerate. Heimdall remembered one moment where Brock had completely destroyed a younger boys self confidence only to later slip the kid an anonymous note disproving anything that had been previously said. Though having been left sobbing, the boy had later left the bathrooms feeling better about himself, freer, more sure that at least someone out there believed in him.

On the other hand, Brock, who had been laughing his ass off at the kid’s wailing sounds moments ago, became the one that silently cried himself to sleep.

When Brock had first come to Hogwarts, Heimdall had picked up on different aspects of Brock’s life. He couldn’t read minds but he saw the letters Brock would read from his parents, the hidden looks when the subject of families came up, the aftermath of a bullied action. Heimdall had attempted to help and sometimes, something would come through.

But only in those quieter moments.

The moment he was off with his “friends” or had gone home for the summer, all connection had been lost and he always came back that twisted and confused boy.

Only he wasn’t a boy anymore and would soon be leaving Hogwarts for good as his final year had just begun. If Heimdall was to make a difference, his time was running out yet even Heimdall felt conflicted as to what to do.

He had long ago agreed to only influence certain actions, never directly get involved with them. He felt that doing so would ruin the trust that certain people put in him while also ruining his own self as he’d be going against what he believed. His powers were extremely influential but Heimdall didn’t want to be that. He didn’t want this power that could force truths into people, pick their lives apart and see into their souls.

Perhaps that was why he had it in the first place.

And the want to help Brock Rumlow wasn’t simply because Heimdall focused on only him. It was because others only needed that kind word, the thought that someone understood. Others didn’t need help forced upon them. Then there was the potential that he saw in Brock. There were cruel children that passed through Hogwarts that Heimdall could see were set in their ways.

But that was the trick. Not everyone could be helped. Not everyone could change. But Brock could. Brock was on the knife’s edge and he would fall one way or the other and once he did, he would fall hard.

Yes, that was the reason. He could see the potential in Brock, potential for good. It was there and it was viable but if Brock kept going the way he was, only two outcomes were possible. He’d fall to the dark path, the cruel and hideous one for good, or he would remain on that knife edge and tear himself apart with the inability to choose. He needed a push towards the good. He needed a push towards kindness and a new beginning.

Focusing on the near constant stream of visions that came from Brock Rumlow, Heimdall moved in the direction that Brock was headed. He had finished something private, leaving the broom closet. Or at least he would in several seconds and then go to the right of the broom closet.

Heimdall rounded a corner and saw Brock heading towards him, not a vision but the boy actually doing it. Like he normally did, Heimdall then pushed the visions to the back of his mind, the stream of noise becoming a buzzing in the back of his mind as his eyes focused on the present reality.

Opening his mouth to speak, he said in his low, commanding voice, “Rumlow, if I could have—”

“Lay off squib,” Brock spat back, avoiding him as much as possible in the hall. Heimdall noted that there was a group of students behind him.

“Rumlow—”

“I was trying to be nice,” growled Brock, “but I guess I have to spell it out for you. Fuck. Off.”

Heimdall’s hand shot out, grabbed Brock, and froze him in place.

“You will not speak to me in that way. Not if you want to keep your excursions with Jack Rollins a secret.” Heimdall said this not due to anger or malice but because he understood what would happen afterwards. Brock would turn pale—

Brock froze, his skin becoming white.

He would stop looking at Heimdall—

Brock avoided eye contact.

He would pull away and Heimdall would let him—

Brock moved back.

He then would stumble once before rushing down the hallway—

Brock tripped over his own legs and ran down the hall.

Heimdall let him go, allowing him to get a head start and calm down before Heimdall would confront him again. But he would go somewhere to be alone, somewhere no one else would find him, somewhere—

Interesting. This would be the first time Brock was discovering that room. In fact, it was the first Heimdall knew of the room. It had not reappeared, at least not to his knowledge, since the Battle of Hogwarts and many had wondered if it had been permanently destroyed.

“Apparently not,” murmured Heimdall as he saw a vision where Brock entered the Room of Requirements.

* * *

 

Brock couldn’t remember there ever being a door down this hall but who the hell cared? He needed to get out of the hallway and away from the eyes of the other students. Upon moving into the room and closing the door, he froze at what he saw.

It was a gym oddly enough.

In the back of his mind, Brock started putting the pieces together, where he was, but he consciously focused on the punching bag near him. There were gloves and wraps and Brock thought of taking hold of them but stopped. No, not right now.

He took off his robe and threw his tie to the side. Brock placed his wand on the ground and then tested the place to stand from the punching bag. Finding the school required shoes to only be a nuisance, he finally took those and the socks off too, leaving him in only his loosely buttoned shirt and pants.

Then he struck.

Brock pounded his fists into the bag as slowly the familiar feeling of boxing came back. He knew how to hold his hands right but by choosing to forgo the wraps or gloves provided, his knuckles were becoming more and more raw. His skin started to rip, blood began to fall, with the tears—

A hand came out and stopped him from his next punch.

“What do you want?!” cried out Brock as he pushed away. He didn’t know how Heimdall-no. Of course he knew how but why? Why had he found him?

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier Rumlow.”

“I could care less. Just get out!”

“There are gloves here for a reason. You’re only damaging your hands this way,” Heimdall murmured.

“Stop acting so calm! And I fucking insulted you, you got angry, so why the hell are you here!?”

“Brock,” Heimdall said softly. He used the first name softer and more cautiously than he’d used Brock’s last name. “You should sit down. You’re shaking.”

“Why are you here?” Brock cried out again.

“I’m trying to help you. I just need you to calm down.”

Giving him an incredulous look, Brock replied, “Help me? That’s a laugh. You don’t help people! You give _advise_. Remember!? You don’t get involved!”

“You’re right. I don’t. Not usually. I realize that with you that it was a mistake.”

“You think?” Brock scoffed.

“But I’m trying to help now. Brock, you will not survive in this world if you continue going the way you are. You’ll continue to hurt others and hurt yourself in the process. You need—”

“Alright,” interrupted Brock. “You want to help? Well I’ve got a newsflash for you. You. Should’ve. Come. _Sooner_!”

The last word was released as a scream and Brock crumbled, sobbing.

Heimdall allowed Brock to cry, to crumple just a bit more before deeming it safe to sit next to the boy.

“You need to stop looking up to your father Brock,” Heimdall said softly.

“Oh thanks! That’s helpful,” cried out Brock.

“It would be if you took the words seriously,” murmured Heimdall.

Brock remained silent for a moment and Heimdall didn’t press any farther. He waited for Brock’s words to be next.

“Being a squib isn’t…bad. I’m sorry for being so rude.”

Heimdall gave a small nod as way of acceptance for the apology and as a signal for Brock to go on.

“My dad hates them. Says they’re useless. He hates mud-I mean muggle-borns too. And muggles. I don’t…I don’t believe in what he believes.”

“But you’re still trying to make him proud,” Heimdall filled in.

Brock gave a small nod. “I…your advise. What you do. It’s not pointless. It has helped but it’s…it’s just not—”

“Enough,” Heimdall finished. “I’m only beginning to realize that now.”

“But you don’t understand! I can make my father proud and correct what I’ve done! I’m sure you’ve seen it all!” Brock said desperately. “I can make him proud. I know I can. And then help the others—”

“But you’re still causing those people harm Brock. Even if you try and correct it all. And you’re right. I’ve seen it all. I’ve also seen you worsen over the years. Every time you leave for summer it gets worse. When do you know what are your thoughts and what are your fathers? How do you know you are only pretending for his benefit and there isn’t truth in your words?”

“I-I know,” Brock murmured but he was clearly unsure. “But you don’t…don’t understand. He’s my dad—”

“And you love him. I understand that but it doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s right or not! He…” Brock trailed off. His fingers were toying with his shirt. He finally lifted the edge ever so slightly.

Heimdall couldn’t remember ever seeing that. Had Brock actually succeeded in hiding something as awful as this? Had he honestly never seen even a hint of it?

A burn stretched across Brock’s lower abdomen. The edges were old but the center consisted of newer scar tissue, like the same hideous touch had damaged the same spot over and over and over again.

“He won’t let me heal it,” Brock murmured. “Says it’s to keep me aware of my place.”

“What of your mother?” asked Heimdall softly. He had never seen any hint of physical abuse but with it as evidence, he suddenly felt sick by not becoming aware sooner. “Does she do nothing?”

“She can’t. She tries and…I have to protect her.”

“So you truly stay for her and not your father.”

“No my dad-well…I…you’re right,” murmured Brock. “I stay…stay for my mother.”

“Brock, I cannot let this new information go unheard. This is a crime—”

“No you can’t!” Brock cried out as he grabbed hold of Heimdall. “You can’t! He-he’ll just get out and then it’ll be worse-worse on everyone! You can’t tell—”

“Wizard, squib, muggle, it is my duty as a human being to not let this go unchecked.”

“But—”

“Nothing you say can change my mind on this. No matter your age you are still a child and no child should go through that pain.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much. I’ve gotten use to it,” managed Brock.

Heimdall shook his head. “You shouldn’t be able to say that with that amount of truth. We need to go to someone this instant.”

“But not this instant surely? Just let…please I just need a little longer.”

Heimdall nodded. He watched the conflicted feelings flash across Brock’s face. He could see him falling apart even more so. Heimdall of course wanted to prevent that but he saw in this moment that he shouldn’t. Brock needed to finish breaking before being built back up into his own man, not his father but somebody else. Somebody kind and honest.

“You won’t tell about…about Jack and I though. Right?”

“No. I never was going to.”

“I suppose you-gross I never thought of that before. You really do see everything don’t you?”

“I do,” Heimdall said, “but I can push visions to the back of my mind and though I may see everything, I do not have a perfect memory. Visions slip away and believe me when I tell you that I have more important things to keep track of than how many times you have snogged Jack Rollins in that broom closet.”

Brock turned scarlet, clearly embarrassed, but it was far better than the white complexion and terrified look like before.

“I’m assuming nobody knows,” Heimdall said softly.

“Yeah, my…I’ve never talked about Jack, not this way, to anyone. I can’t-it just-if my father found out he’d burn me again.”

“You’re father will not touch you ever again,” Heimdall responded. “Mark my word on this. Speak of any matters, do what you wish to do. Your father will no longer have any impact on you.”

“He’s powerful though. Has friends in high places.”

“Doesn’t matter. I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“Are you being serious?”

“I am never anything else.”

“Then…” Brock stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Then can we talk about something else other than my father?”

Heimdall nodded. “Of course. And for however long. But only if afterwards you promise to go with me to the infirmary.”

“I promise.”

“You do realize you’d have to go to the Healers. To authorities about what happened.”

Brock gave an uncertain nod. “We’ll-we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he mumbled.

“Alright. Is there anyone else you would like me to get? Anyone who could help with this time?”

“Maybe Professor Pierce? You know, the Potions Teacher?”

“Alexander Pierce is a good man. If you trust him, I believe he can help you through this. He’s in your House as well.” Yes, Alexander Pierce was a fine choice to help turn Brock’s life around. He was a rather plain man, Heimdall couldn’t remember ever seeing him do anything non work related at the school, not even a friendly letter to or from a friend or family, yet he was honest. And being both in Gryffindor would help with the start of that kinship.

Brock seemed to nod in agreement  but then suddenly jerked. “Wait! What about you? You are—”

“I will help you in any way you need it. As you said before. I should have helped sooner. If you ever need my help I will always give it,” Heimdall murmured honestly. “I simply suggest Professor Pierce as I imagine he would be a good _wizarding_ friend. That is all.”

“Oh, okay. Just…just as long as you’re not suddenly bailing on me,” Brock replied. It was clear that he thought these words a weakness, which they weren’t (it was alright to rely on someone besides yourself) but at least he was admitting those feelings. That was a step in the right direction.

“I will not…bail on you as you put it. Now, what would you like to talk about? Hmm? Perhaps school? The Tri-Wizard Tournament? Or—”

“Maybe just Jack?” asked Brock hesitantly. Unsure, careful. “I don’t…I can’t talk about him with anyone else.”

“Alright. Tell me some about Jack,” Heimdall replied. He gave a kind, encouraging smile. For the moment, Brock looked like a teen, a teen embarrassed over a crush, not twisted and torn. If Heimdall could, he’d keep it that way for Brock’s remaining year.


End file.
